


Fire and Liberty

by Arvalee Knight (AvaWhiteRaven), AvaWhiteRaven



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Sex, F/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5405396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaWhiteRaven/pseuds/Arvalee%20Knight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaWhiteRaven/pseuds/AvaWhiteRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're wounded and dying, simple as that. And you're nearly ready to give up on getting any sort of aide when unfamiliar help arrives. Not knowing who this stranger is or why he's bothering to help doesn't matter at this point. You accept his efforts for as long as your dignity can allow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I scrapped the Fire and Liberty before this one. I just couldn't seem to write anything for it? I've been really inspired for this one lately and just started chapter three. Tons of interesting ideas on where it's going as well :3

The heat of blood against your fingers was a blissful contrast against the harsh cold of the northern winter. But the warmth only told you two things: the first was obviously that you’d been wounded and the second was that you were still alive. Sometimes in the frigid cold when your body grows numb and still, it’s hard to remember that you’re alive. It’s harder yet to remember that you’re human and not a part of the landscape.

You had tracked your prey for weeks and it had been a silent, lonely hunt. They usually were. You could go days without seeing another living soul out there on the frontier. And when you did finally bump into someone, you kept quiet and went on your way. You didn’t want them to know your name or why you were in the area. You especially didn’t want them to know your profession. They needed to forget you were ever there to being with.

You trudged through the snow and not even the thickness of your breeches or the leather of your furs could keep out the cold. It seemed to seep past every layer of cloth, through the thinness of your skin, and down into the core of your bones. Even the breaths you took were brittle and icy.

You pulled your hand away from the wound, peered down uselessly at the blood that pooled out of it. It was that moment you accepted your fate. It was then that you realized you weren’t going to reach the nearest town in time to seek help. You were weeks away from the largest town and you couldn’t recall if you passed any homes along the way.

You gritted your teeth and slipped your eyes closed. It wasn’t even the worst wound, either, that was the irony of it. You had sustained far more horrendous wounds. But they had been patched up with expertise moments after receiving them.

You placed your hand back over the sticky and thickening goo, pressed the leathers and furs across it in hope to slow the bleeding but… God, you knew it wouldn’t help. Your heart was pounding from the laborious trek through the snowy woods. It was killing itself. You were bleeding out faster by the second and you would die there alone without anyone aware of your condition.

Who would go back to Boston and inform the others? Would they notice you hadn’t returned? Would they grow worried about your prolonged absence? Perhaps they might even think you abandoned their cause for your own.

You scoffed at that, a ragged and harsh laugh, coated with a metallic taste that bit at the back of your throat. No, you were too loyal for that and they knew it. They would worry about you… You hoped they would worry about you. You hoped they would send someone because you weren’t sure you could even take the next step. The snow felt so heavy against your legs and your bones felt like brittle stone crumbling beneath your weight.

You shook your head wearily, cursing yourself for having been so careless. You leaned your shoulder into the closest tree and slid down its rough and jagged surface. You eased into the freezing snow, your knees against the hard skin of the earth, and you let the tension roll away.

Perhaps you deserved this fate. Perhaps all of the horrible things you did were finally catching up to you. Someone had to do it, you excused. Someone.

You tried to lift your eyes, to look out upon the scenery once more before you really lost consciousness. The sun glinted and glistened across the soft white mounds of snow, the hips of trees casting shadows in the most blissful way possible. In the distance you could make out the painted horizon of delicate pinks and flares of orange.

You trembled down a breath, the hot blood along your hand cooling. You had little time to process it. There was the crunch and grind of snow beneath heavy footfalls. Wolves, you thought, but their trek was louder than wolves. No, human you reconsidered as your wavering gaze bobbed across your surroundings.

Native, you realized when you finally met his eyes. But it was a brief glimpse before you swayed forward, your body finally falling into the dense snow. Even your breath cooled, no longer warm in your lungs or along the rim of your nose. You weren’t sure you even remembered what warm felt like. Everything was ice.

Then it came, a gentle and enveloping heat that blanketed across your quivering form. It was feverish hot, licking and lapping away the frozen sweat that gathered across your skin. Your frozen form thawed against it, melted into the delightful touches of sun and summer. Your thoughts swayed between memories of a happier time when the sun filtered through the canopies of trees, filtered through thin leaves until shadows dappled your skin only barely.

You took down the deepest breath, the first breath in what seemed like an eternity. You pried your eyes open with the hopes of seeing that green and lush world where spring thrived but… The branches were barren, barely a leaf still clinging, and even the sky was a dusting of grey hues.

But heat flickered across your skin, fighting back the bitterness of winter. It took a great deal of strength for you to sweep your gaze towards the crackling and sputtering noises of the campfire. He sat on the other side of the flames, his already bronze skin cast into deeper shades of gold.

He sensed your eyes upon him, a skill he must have picked up over years of being on the frontier. He set aside his knife and the animal he’d been skinning. Rabbit, you think absentmindedly. He stood tall and made his way over, the broadness of his form unsettling you. You were weak and wounded and if he desired, he could take your life or worse.

You flinched away from him as he kneeled down and lifted a small bowl into view. His arm, wrapped and coiled in muscle, slid beneath your neck until your head was propped up. Wordlessly, he pressed the bowl to your lips and the cool liquid inside rippled towards your lips.

“Drink,” he ordered when you didn’t make the effort. “It will help.”

You sipped upon the concoction, a harsh and rancid taste that caused a sharp gasp. Some of it went down your throat too quickly, causing you to cough. A splintering pain shot across your lower abdomen and it felt as if your torn flesh was being ripped further open.

When your coughs subsided, he tilted the bowl and allowed a bit more to pass your lips. You took your time in swallowing it down, a wretched herbal remedy that sharply bit at your tongue and up into your sinuses.

He eased you back down onto the ground before setting the bowl aside. His eyes lingered with yours for a moment. He let his gaze trail across your body and down towards the place where you’d been skewered by a blade. His hand gently pushed away the furs and cloth, exposing your torso, the feverish lesion throbbing against the cold air.

His expression was empty, blank as he glanced it over then gave a slight nod. “The wound was made cleanly. It will take time but it will heal.”

You tried to keep your eyes open, to fight against the exhaustion that clouded your mind. You spoke, a raspy and unfamiliar noise, “What’s your name?”

He took his time replying. He focused on covering you back up, his hands large but somehow patient. “Connor.”

Your eyes thinned, nearly closed, but you kept your focus. “What’s your real name?” You watched him stand and when you realized he wasn’t going to reply you added weakly, “You’re a Native of this land, yes?”

The word rolled off of his tongue, the letters sounding nearly like a lullaby, “Ratonhnhaké:ton.” He moved around the fire and sat down on the log he’d been on earlier. “It would be easier if I was Connor.”

You scoffed, nearly choked on it as the tang of blood and the rancid earth swelled in your throat. “I’m not one for easy…” You swallowed painfully, your eyes watering from the assaulting agony. “Thank you, Ra…” You groaned, thoughts swimming as your vision lost focus.

“Rest. The herbs I gave you, they will make it easy to sleep.” He pulled out his knife, the metal shimmering beneath the blaze of the fire. He began to work again on the rabbit, its red flesh slowly being peeled clean.

Your eyes fluttered, desperate to stay awake because you still didn’t know if you could trust the stranger. But it was nearly impossible. Your body was fighting you and even your mind gave up as your vision speckled with darkness. You eased against the earth, bones and muscle sinking into it like a child in the arms of its mother.

Time felt distorted with each moment that you woke. There were times when the sun hung high above you, beaming as best she could against the winter gray. Other times, both day and night, it was the moon that greeted you first. But every time your eyes opened and you gained consciousness, Ratonhnhaké:ton was there with his herbal remedy.

At some point he must have bandaged the wound because there were times when he would unravel the cloth to examine its progress. He spoke nothing unless you asked and you were honestly too tired to ask much, words forming too slowly and dreams merging with reality.

You opened your eyes to a softened darkness. Sunset or sunrise, you couldn't be certain. Your thoughts felt clearer if not somewhat groggy with sleep. Your arms slid back, hoisting your torso up until you could sit forward and take in your surroundings. It was a small space, cleared of snow as best as possible, and the campfire smoldered smokily beside you.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was curled on his side, arm used as a poor pillow. He looked stranger asleep. He looked less stern, less guarded and nearly the sight of a sleeping pup. Fragile, you considered while leaning forward. You tried to move your legs and bring yourself to your knees but the muscles quivered.

“You are still not well.” He was up off the ground before you could even look over. “But you appear healthy enough to leave this area.”

You took his outstretched hand, hauling yourself up onto your wobbling legs. “The closest village. You can drop me off there. I'll find the rest of my way on my own.” Your knees buckled and he was close enough to catch you just before you fell.

Ratonhnhaké:ton pressed you firmly against his chest, a look of pity on the edges of his expression. “You are stubborn. You should have someone look at your wound.”

You chuckled acidicly, ducking your heading away. “I already did. He gave me herbs and bandaged it.”

“I am not a doctor.” An arm remained hooked around your waist as he guided you around the fire towards the log he'd been sitting on for the past few days. Perhaps it had been weeks, you weren't sure. “Rest. I will pack camp.”

“Rest,” you mocked bitterly. “I have suffered far worse than this.”

He gathered his things, the few items that he had. He was well armored, you noticed, and must have lived a large portion of his life out on the frontier. He seemed to be very much a part of it as it was part of him. He was Native to this land and yet… Where were his people?

His words were final, resolute, “You will see a doctor.”

You shifted in the seat, putting all your effort into getting to your feet. “I need to return to Boston. There’s important business I need to attend to.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton leapt forward, eager to keep you from falling, his hands cupping both of your elbows. “More important than your life?”

You grimaced from the painful discomfort, masking it as a smirk as best you could. “Yes, it is.”

“Then we will go to a doctor in Boston.” His arm secured itself around your waist. And he made sure your arm gripped firmly onto his shoulder before daring to haul you out of the grove and into the knee high snowy landscape.

Each step was splintering, bones creaking and your muscles burning. How long had you been listless to cause such a feverish feeling? Your words were spat with more frustration than you intended, “Why are you helping me? Shouldn't you return to your tribe? I'm sure they miss you by now.”

“You do not wish for my help?” His steps ceased, voice hard and stern like a bitter mentor than anything else. “I can leave you here then. Go on. Walk. Find your way to Boston.”

You sucked down a breath of air. You peered up at him then clenched your eyes shut.

He gave a cocky hum of approval before shuffling with you through the snow.

“I am curious though.” You made an attempt to lose the hard edge of your voice. You weren't trying to sound angry. It was simply a habit. “I am a stranger to you. Why help me?”

His answer was final, plain, and very much the truth, “Because you need it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratonhnhaké:ton stays by your side, helping you in more ways than one, but you suddenly realize something about this strange guardian.

Ratonhnhaké:ton set up camp before dawn while you watched silently from your resting place. It was a decent spot where most of the snow was kept at bay by the thick, lush branches of a fir tree. The earth would provide a decent enough bed, if not moist and rich with balsamic scents, layered by the soft curls of moss.

But a ‘decent spot’ was the least of your troubles. It was getting the fire started that caused you the most concern: collecting wood, finding dry material, getting the spark, then breathing life into it. You'd always enjoyed that part, the small little ember needing a gentle breath to flicker a bit brighter, to watch it lap hungrily on the dry bones of trees.

Ratonhnhaké:ton, from what you could tell, was well practiced at it. He got the fire going with ease and fed it with just the right amount of dried mosses and wood. He didn't smother it like many would have or breathed too hard onto it until the flame died out. He was calm and gentle, caring even, and you could see it in everything that he did. He cared. Too much, you considered.

You shifted your spine against the crude trunk of the tree. “Your name…” You softened your tone this time, rolled your vision down to briefly peer at the throbbing wound. “How did you pronounce it again?” You placed a hand against lesion, nursing it in vain. You would give anything to have another swallow of the herbs but they clouded your judgement. You didn't know this man. You didn't trust him. You had to remain awake until you returned to Boston. Then, when you were around your allies, you could finally lower your guard.

He tossed a few more pieces of wood onto the fire when he thought the flame was strong enough for it. He slowly stood, eyes never leaving the smoldering heat as he paced about the small area. “How was it that you were wounded?”

“A bear,” you lied, quick and easy. “Your name?”

He looked over the broadness of shoulder and you knew he had seen through your lie. “That was no bear. I will ask again. How was it that you were wounded?”

You understood now how clever he was. He was smarter than most. He was able to see past your gender, able to analyze your wound, able to recognize a hunter when he saw one. Most would have seen a hapless young woman disoriented in the woods, needing constant care and attention lest she faint from her overwhelming emotions.

You spoke calmly, not a hint of worry, “Why help me if you do not trust me?”

His attention swept out across the wooded landscape, scattered trees and boulders, nothing of true remark. But he was a sentinel all the same. He knew these woods held beasts and far worse. “Why lie about it?”

You raised a brow, your heart pounding in your ears. Why was he so curious about your wound? Did he know? Was he aware of your crimes? Was this stranger aware of what you did back there in the deep woods? No, he couldn’t have known. You were quiet about it. Your kill was clean and silent. No one knew it was you.

Your voice remained even from years of practice, “Lie about what?”

His steps were paced as he walked around the small camp towards you. “It was a blade,” he stated plainly, his eyes settling on your hand as it grasped the spot on your abdomen. He brushed some of the low hanging branches away as he kneeled down beneath the shelter of the fir tree. “Is it still painful?”

“Not even a little,” you lied without even processing it.

His hand struck forward, pressing your own hand against the raw and soft flesh and drawing a sharp hiss from you. “It is hurting you.”

Your jaw locked tight as your teeth bit against each other. “It does now!” The pain splintered, bloomed across your upper body, stung your eyes into watering.

The edges of his lips pulled down into a hard frown. “You lie as if it is a part of you. Do you know any words that are not lies?” Ratonhnhaké:ton reached into the pouch at his waist and pulled from it a small vial of dark and clouded liquid.

“No.” Your gaze held his, a determination and a rage burning through you and hopefully into him. “I don't want your medicine.”

He stuffed the vial securely back into its pouch. “Ratohnhaké:ton.” He flicked his attention up at you before cautiously sitting down on the dirt. He rolled out onto his back, eyes focused on the dark evergreen branches canopied over him.

“Ra-doon… ha-ge-doon.” You repeated it constantly in your mind, repeating each sound and syllable until you thought you had them memorised. “Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

His voice was leveled, always deep and somehow evenly spoken, “Why does my name hold such importance to you?”

“You saved my life.” You slipped your eyes closed but you kept your senses as heightened and alert as possible. “Whether I trust you or not doesn't matter. I still owe you.”

“You owe me nothing.” He shifted against the earth, fir needles rustling and snow crunching. “I want nothing. You can not even speak the truth. Why would I want anything a liar offered.”

“Truth? You wish to hear my truth?” You muttered it softly, hardly believing that you spoke it out loud, “I killed a man.” You opened your eyes, finding that Ratonhnhaké:ton was watching you.

He closed his eyes and tucked an arm beneath his head. He spoke nothing, not a question or a statement of worry. He held no fear nor guilt nor remorse. He didn't seem phased by your words in the slightest. Perhaps he already knew. Perhaps he had indeed seen you back there in the deep woods while you slit a man's throat. Perhaps he simply didn't care. Perhaps… He had killed people as well.

Yes, you thought, recalling the subtle way he carried himself. He was quiet and skilled, a well trained hunter but there was something else buried beneath his actions. He was used to looking over his shoulder, used to hunting down smarter prey. Humans. He was a killer as well. Not a soldier, obviously. But he’d killed enough that he knew what he was doing.

So why? Why had he helped you? Why hadn’t he killed you while you were weak and dying? Surely not because you were a woman. His bitter words showed he didn't think of you in such a way. Surely he didn’t hold some form of pity for you. Unless his killing was for a noble cause.

You tried to press your smile away, to hold back the chuckle. The notion that killing could be in any way noble… Ah, he must be one of those who found justification to kill those who were corrupt and…

You narrowed your eyes, steadied your breathing. Damn it. No, he couldn’t be. You surveyed his attire, sought out some indication that he might be one of them. No, you couldn’t see any of hint of them in him. But the white of his robes. The way he had carried himself. He had to be one of them. The hood, however, unsettled you. Yes, there it was. There on the crest of his hood was the faint embroidered symbol.

You peered down at your weeping wound, the blood that stained your bandages. You were too weak to get away and far too weak to kill him. Perhaps, if you were lucky, you could take his life while he slept but… He seemed too skillful and alert for that tactic to work successfully. If anything it would only inform him of who you really were.

You looked over your own garments, trying to think if you wore an emblem of any sort that might make him aware of your true line of work. Nothing, none that you could think of. You glanced at him as plans and schemes swirled.

You clenched your teeth. Damn it, he’d saved your life and this was how you’d repay him? By killing him? No, he deserved better. You had to get away from him somehow and return to Boston. And hopefully, you would never run into him again. Because surely you’d be forced to take his life. He was still your enemy no matter the kindness he showed.

There was movement, the soft hush of snow. You held your breath, straining to hear which direction it was coming from. Ratonhnhaké:ton opened his eyes, his chest stilled as he listened as well. He swept his vision to you in order to make sure you were aware as well. He held your attention, almost scrutinizing how alert you were all the time. Surely he knew what you were by now.

He sat up and pulled the tomahawk from his belt. His hold tightened, leather groaning against the smooth wooden hilt. “Wolves,” he whispered it as he saw their eyes flicker beneath the moonlight, their shadows passing between the waists of trees. Their steps were silent but not enough for an Assassin to overlook.

You tried to pace your breathing but the deep gash seared and throbbed, a knot tightening in the back of your throat. “You’re going to take them all on?”

He rolled onto his knees, watching them like a predator as their eyes fell upon the two of you. “They know you are wounded. They will not simply leave.” He left the shadow of the tree, the moonlight rolling off of his back as he stalked forward in hopes his size would deter the creatures. But their pack was large and their confidence just as much. They would not frighten so easily.

You watched helplessly. Another thing you owed him. Twice he has saved your life.

The pack of wolves spanned outwards, casting a wide net around their prey. The first of the wolves leapt forward and Ratonhnhaké:ton grasped the creature by the scruff of its neck. The curved blade of his tomahawk met both flesh and bone, sliding across until the creature fell in a crumpled mass at his feet.

A second thought to take advantage of the distraction, leaping up behind the youth. But Ratonhnhaké:ton dodged the attack, spinning away from teeth and claws. His blade followed closely behind, possibly nicking the creature’s hindquarters as it landed into the snow with a whimper.

You pried your eyes away from the scene when a wolf neared. Ah, so that was their game. Distract the healthy one long enough to kill the sick and weakest. Such clever and opportunistic creatures. You admired them for their tenacity, for their ability to survive. It was a shame, you thought while tugging the small knife from your belt. You didn’t want to have to kill them but you were a survivalist as well.

You were hardly different from them. You bared your teeth, giving a low growl as the dark furred beast neared, reminding it that you weren't an easy meal. It was assessing you, its nose telling it that you were wounded. You spun the blade beneath your fingers, feeling its weight before readying yourself.

But Ratonhnhaké:ton was already lunging forward to leap onto the creature’s back. Another wolf followed closely at his heels. He killed the first canine only to have the claws of the second graze across the muscle of his arm. The hidden blade jutted forward and pierced deep into the wolf’s neck as it was pinned into the ground. Jolts of life fluttered across its form as it tried to continue living. The red of blood rolled out across white snow and the wolf went silent.

The rest of the pack cowered away. Moonlight pooled across their dark forms as they raced through snow and trees to find easier targets.

Ratonhnhaké:ton brought the long claw marks into view, blood glistening beneath the light of the fire and moon. He ignored the wound and turned his efforts towards the dead wolves. Their pelts would be useful to him in more ways than one. His hidden blade jutted free of its holster before twisting into his palm to create a small dagger.

You were breathless, flustered even, bitter if you were honest about it. “Stop saving my life.” Your body trembled from adrenaline and something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It wasn’t fear or anger. It was something deeper and nameless and it bothered you even more than being helpless. “You could have died.”

He rolled the dark opals of his eyes up at you. The fire blazed at his back so his face was nearly unviewable in the shadows. “You are concerned for me now? Or still for yourself?Were you not the one who wanted to leave off on your own?”

You clenched your teeth together, felt them grind against each other. “What use would you be to me if you were dead?”

His eyes lingered with yours before he focused on skinning the wolves again. “You should sleep. I have no desire to carry your weight in the morning.”

You bitterly rubbed your back against the rough bark of the tree. “Do not worry. I will carry my own weight from now on.”

“Good.” His blade moved quicker, less controlled than earlier. “You can leave to Boston as well if you please. I have matters of my own to deal with.”

You couldn't help but hiss, “Perfect.”

The sooner you left his side the better. He couldn’t know your true nature. He couldn’t know what you were. You would keep his secret and pretend you didn’t know him. You owed him twice over and that alone made you furious. You always took care of yourself, determined to be independent. And here he was, all kindness and nobility… Leaving him alive was payment enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratonhnhaké:ton offers what help that he can and you find yourself all the more grateful as time goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't been quite as active lately. Fallout 4 really is too go to be true. It's one of the best games I've played: so expansive, so addicting

You breathed deep and your lungs filled with the smoky aroma of smoldering wood, the tart tang of blood, the crisp green of the coniferous trees. The fire had provided ample warmth during the night but it was only hissing ashes now in the early morning dawn. The chill settled over your motionless form, seeping past leather and fur to the skin below.

You watched Ratonhnhaké:ton’s breathing, his chest moving like the ebb and flow of the tide, a mesmerizing sight if you allowed your eyes to linger a moment longer. You tried to lean forward, to force yourself onto your feet, but your muscles were knotted and rigid, barely allowing you to sit up straight. You stifled back a low groan, feeling it swell inside of your throat as you fell to your side. Your elbow sunk into the damp earth, keeping you from falling the rest of the way.

His voice was perhaps even more dry and bitter than you’d ever heard it before, “You are not very smart.”

You didn’t dare speak. There was too much pain blooming across your torso, clawing up your chest to your throat. You gritted your teeth and forced yourself back against the tree, all the while as the youth watched with mild disbelief. You weren’t even sure if your breathing was normal but your mind couldn’t care less. You didn’t want to show weakness in front of a stranger.

He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “If you no longer need my help, I shall be on my way. I have pelts to sell.”

You watched him stand and gather his things together, the meat he had cut last night and the bones he had salvaged. The furs were hanging over branches across the otherside of the campfire, a mixed assortment of soft browns and blacks.

Your stomach clenched and your mouth watered with sour distaste. You resisted for as long as you could, feeling the heat of bile bite the back of your throat, but it happened all the same. You lunged to the side just as the hot contents of your stomach spilled onto the ground. Your palms pressed flat against the cold, damp earth. You sucked down a breath of air, a pathetic sob that tasted rancid and sour.

He gave a growl of annoyance and tossed all of his things at his feet. “I told you that you were too weak to be on your own.”

“No!” You raised your hand at him as you gathered what little dignity you had left. “I don’t need your help.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton rolled his eyes, tossing his shaking head out towards the woodlands. He couldn’t believe how stubborn you were being. He couldn’t possibly understand your need to be self sufficient. He gathered all of his things onto his shoulders and back, securing them in place, before marching forward.

“I said I don’t need your help. Leave me.” You took down a shuddering breath as he reached down and roughly gathered you into his arms. He threw your legs over one arm and hoisted your upper body with the other. “Stupid,” you muttered, pressing your head into the warmth of his chest.

He huffed, jostling your weight as best he could while sauntering across the snowy landscape. “You are the one who is dying. Not me.”

You couldn’t help but breathe the subtle notes of his scent, the musk of a mossy woodland and the sharp richness of cedar. You couldn’t stop yourself from enjoying the warmth that he provided or the smooth skin of his neck beneath your fingers as you held on to him. God, you understood that nameless and unfamiliar feeling that arose last night. It was the slight and lingering touches of lust, perhaps admiration for a man who would go through such trouble just to keep a stranger alive.

You glowered at the passing trees, the rhythmic beat of his steps in time with their passing. “I can walk from here.”

His words were harsh, still touched with resentment, “Do not talk or I will drop you.”

You nearly spat a challenge but you swallowed it painfully. You didn't want to call his bluff. You wanted to melt against him, to close your eyes for just a moment longer and delve your senses into the intoxicating scent of Ratonhnhaké:ton’s skin. And what crime was there in enjoying him while you could? Soon enough you would leave his side and never see him again. And if you did catch a glimpse of him in the future… you would let him live despite what all your training would command of you.

When his steps slowed, you pulled yourself out of the lulling daze. You could see the distinct openness of a narrow road. Ratonhnhaké:ton lumbered to the path then circled around the various indentations in the snow. Thin wheel tracks proved that someone had recently passed through but which direction had they gone? Horse hooves, you noted, and they were headed further up the path. But were they heading into town or away from it?

Ratonhnhaké:ton began the long trek forward, snow creaking beneath the determination of his steps. He didn't appear tired, perhaps he wouldn't allow you to see it, but his movements were not quite as rhythmic as before. The terrible truth about the cold was that it gave the mind a false sense of energy.

“Put me down.” You shifted your weight in his arms but his hold on you tightened. You glanced up at him, finding the sternness of his stare unfaltered. “You're working too hard. You'll exhaust yourself.”

He kept walking down the rocky dirt road, the snow only a thin blanket compared to the rest of the woods.

“I'm going to be sick,” you lied skillfully, trying to twist yourself out of his arms.

He huffed bitterly, gently lowering you down to the ground all the same. His arm remained curled around your back while he reached to the pouch on his belt. “You are more trouble than you are worth. I should have left you.”

“You should have.” Your lips quivered, your hands pressing against the snow. It felt refreshing against the fever that swept across your body and you curled your fingers into it.

Ratonhnhaké:ton pulled a cloth into view. He patted it against the cold sweat that beaded across your forehead. His eyes met with yours the very moment he pressed the handkerchief to your lips. He rolled his attention back towards your mouth, wiping the corners clean before stuffing it away.

“We are nearly there.” His arm scooped beneath your legs and hoisted your weight once more. “Then you can finally be rid of me.”

You slid your eyes shut before resting your head against his chest. It pained you to think how rude you were being to him. It was necessary. He couldn't find out who you really were. The moment he did… You didn't want to think about it. You wanted to enjoy the little time you had, to allow him to take care of you, and then be on your way.

His chest rose sharply against you before he gave a low sigh. “I will leave you with a doctor.”

You swept your eyes over the small shabby town just up ahead. “This isn't Boston.”

The corner of his lips tugged downwards. “Be pleased I did not drop you. You will get the help you need. Then you can journey where you like.”

You gritted your teeth and gave a slight nod. “Set me down then. You've done enough.”

“No.” He kept a steady pace, shoes scuffing across the dirt of the road, the snow having melted long ago after constant use. “Dislike me all you wish. I shall not abandon you.”

You released a quick huff of air. “It's not that I dislike you…”

His words were spat harshly, almost as if they were considered often, “No? Only that I am a savage?”

“What?” Your brows dove down abruptly and you nearly shoved your elbow against him.

His expression remained neutral, a perfect stone sculpture.

“I treat everyone this way.” You shifted your body further into his hold with eagerness to snuggle against his firm chest. “It wasn't my intention to offend…” You gave a groan at yourself for even thinking you needed an excuse. “You're a stranger. I don't need to explain myself.”

A man raced quickly towards the two of you and Ratonhnhaké:ton recognized that he was there to assist. He focused his attention on the individual, following the path until they were meters apart.

The breathless townsman raised a welcoming hand. “Someone said they saw a woman that looked ill.”

“She was attacked by poachers,” he lied casually, walking past the man. “You are a doctor? Where is your home?”

“This way, please.” He waved a hand out towards the house in the distance. “How long ago was this? The two of you both look quite exhausted.”

“Several days ago.” Ratonhnhaké:ton’s arms trembled as he tried to reposition your weight. “Over a week. She is healing well.”

The man looked over his shoulder, giving a slightly uncertain nod. “You have been caring for her then? You are kind to do so. Might I ask your name?”

“Connor,” the lie rolled easily from his tongue as they neared the house’s entrance.

“Lay her down anywhere inside. I'll grab my things.” The doctor opened the front door of the home and stepped inside, rushing off to gather exactly what he needed.

Ratonhnhaké:ton walked through the foyer and down the hall, stepping into the first room he saw with a bed in it. He struggled to lay you down, his muscle trembling after having strained themselves for so long. But as tired as he was, he made sure your head gently met with a pillow. His eyes lingered with yours, a statement to be spoken but the doctor returned.

“Let us see this wound, shall we?” He approached, hands already lifting away your garments to view the red stained bandage. He untied and unraveled it, brows pinching further together the further he revealed the lesion. He gave a long groan of disapproval. “Well. Thankfully it’s not infected but… we will need to cauterize it.”

You nearly growled it, “What?” You would have gotten up and left if you had the strength to do it. “No. It’s fine. It'll heal in its own. Just clean it up and I’ll be on my way.”

The doctor wasn't listening, however. He was already moving across the other side of the room, starting the fireplace. “I shall collect some supplies while the fire gets hot.”

You didn't realize how tense your body had become until Ratonhnhaké:ton placed a hand down onto your arm. You tried to soften your expression, to flatten your brows and narrow your eyes but the prospect of intense pain set you on edge. You hated the smell of burning flesh. You hated anything hot coming close to your skin.

You muttered through thin lips, “You don't need to stay for this.”

“I do not,” he agreed but he made no efforts to move.

It felt like an eternity passed before the doctor returned and set bottles of ale and spirits down onto the bedside table. “I'll make sure to clean the wound before we begin. Are you ready?”

Your lips began to trembled. You pursed them together and took down a long, deep breath. Ratonhnhaké:ton sat down onto the edge of the bed, his hand cupping the side of your face so that you could only view him. The russet mahogany of his eyes pierced through you, a steady and encouraging stare.

Cold and searing, the alcohol pooled across the open skin like acid. It clawed its way deep into your body, splintering and cascading up across your torso and into your throat. You wrapped your lips around the agonized moans, the scream that swelled in the back of your mouth. You stared up at the ceiling but Ratonhnhaké:ton lean forward until his forehead pressed with yours.

“You will survive this,” he whispered.

Your eyes clenched shut when you heard metal scraping against the stone of the fireplace. Sparks crackled and hissed as the fire devoured everything in reach. Your ears strained to hear the steps of the doctor as he returned, white hot metal eager to char your flesh. His palm gripped your waist into the bed, his words an order, “Hold her still.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton formed a cave around you, his arms grappling you against his chest. Your fingers curled around the smooth leather of the belt across his torso. You will survive this, you thought. You survived worse things before.

The pain came too quickly for you to process. Your lips pulled down into a hard grimace as the screams ruptured through you. The severe and intense heat bloomed across your body and no matter the amount of struggling you did, the air filled with the pungent scent of burning flesh. Your eyes stung with hot tears and your hands tugged pleadingly at his jacket.

“That side is done,” the doctor said but you could barely hear it over the ringing in your ears. “Turn her over and we’ll close the back.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton rolled your quaking body towards him, buried your head into the curve of his neck. He pressed his mouth to your ear, breathed sweetly upon it and whispered, “You are nearly there.”

Your teeth pressed so hard together you thought they might crack. A stuttering moan swelled in your mouth, your body still racked with the fierce pulses of pain. You pressed your tears into his neck when the heat snapped across your backside, digging deep into muscle and bone. Your fingers curled, clawing your nails into the soft skin of his neck.

The pain subsided but your skin still sizzled beneath the burning heat. The bed shifted as the doctor moved away. Metal clattered onto stone and there was a heavy sigh somewhere behind you. He stated breathily, “Let her drink some of the ale, for now. She’s going to need it to sleep.” His boots clanged against the wooden floorboard, fading the further he walked from the bedroom.

You breathed raggedly into Ratonhnhaké:ton’s skin, drowning yourself in his scent and taste. Sweat, mostly, but the underlying comforts of the woodlands as well. You released the strangling hold your hands held on him. You let your muscles and bones crumple against the bed, too tired and weak to do much else.

“Drink this.” He reached for his belt, pulling a vial from it. The same medicine he had offered you back in the woods. “It shall help.”

Your vision was blurry from tears, speckled black with strain. You barely recognized the voice that croaked from your throat, “Yes. Thank you.” The glass felt smooth and cold against your lips, the liquid bitter and foul but you swallowed it greedily. You pressed your cheek into the pillow, delighted to have his calloused fingers brush back your hair. You muttered it again like a gentle prayer, “Thank you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your wound is finally manageable as you make your way back to Boston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people have already guessed but... here's the confirmation of it all :3

The world felt distant, memories like faded dreams and words that felt hollow and empty. You opened your eyes many times to find the room pulsing around you, trembling in and out of focus. Even Ratonhnhaké:ton was difficult to keep in sight. He leaned forward a few times, lips moving as he spoke inaudible words, a cloth patting across sweaty skin. You felt separate from the rest of the world, a simple body residing in it but nothing more.

You couldn’t know what day it was when you finally opened your bleary eyes to the soft glow of a sunrise. The warmth spilled across your skin, heated your cheek like a lover, as you slowly took in your surroundings. It was a modest room at best, thin lace curtains and quilts embroidered with roses.

You used your arms to hoist yourself into a sitting position, sliding your legs out over the side of the bed. That small movement alone left discomfort low across your abdomen but it wasn’t the same sharp pain as before. It was dull, a subtle throbbing, and it was manageable enough that you could put your full weight down onto your legs.

Your things were folded neatly into a pile on a wooden chair in the corner. Your weapons were laid out along the table next to it, neatly lined up as if they were on display. It was a slow process donning every article of clothing from blouse to waistcoat to jacket. Your breeches were the most difficult thing to get on. Right there next to lacing up your boots.

You donned your weapons and shuffled through the humble home, finding yourself in a sitting room without really even trying. The doctor stood with another, a towns person by the looks of it. A farmer, you thought, noting the dirt and fading tan. He gave you a quick look before stalking around you towards the door. He didn’t look hateful but he was certainly suspicious.

“I’m pleased to see you’re up and walking around.” He set down a few items, medical things that weren’t really worth noticing. The swords that hung upon the wall were a far more interesting thing to take note of. They were either for looks or easy access. “We thought for the longest moment you weren’t going to make it out alive. Quite the fever, I think.”

We, he had said, and you wondered if Ratonhnhaké:ton was still nearby. Had he left once he realized you were well taken care of? Had the brief visions of him been only delusions? His leaving would be for the best. You couldn’t get close to him. It would be… Well, practical but you didn’t want to use him like that. He had saved your life. You couldn’t hurt him.

You looked about the small room, that simple scan telling you all you needed to know about the doctor. He wasn’t remarkable. But it was clear that the town respected and liked him. He wasn’t rich but he was far from starving. The fireplace was well stocked for the winter so he never truly knew what cold really felt like.

You gave a meager smile. “I’m grateful for your help. I don’t have anything to really pay you with.”

He scoffed, half-snorted in shock. “No, no, please. You won’t need to pay me.” Seriousness gripped him rather suddenly. “But, don’t tell me you’re planning to leave soon?” He was a humble man. His eyes were small, narrow, overshadowed greatly by the thickness of brows. He truly meant his words. He didn’t expect anything in return.

You tossed your gaze over towards the front door, easily in view of the sitting room. “I should be getting on my way…”

“I see.” He tucked his hands behind his back, walking slowly towards you. “Your friend left a moment ago to help someone with their cart. The wheel busted off, I think. He’ll return soon if you wish to wait here.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton. Your vision swept to the floor, your heart racing as you considered it. He had stayed after all. Of course he did. He was noble and kind, the ridiculous ideals of an Assassin. He was off right now helping someone else. That’s what he did. You weren’t special. You needed to remember that.

“No, I should really be going.” You stepped back and gave a nod of your head. “Thank you again, Doctor. I appreciate your kindness.” You turned on your heel and hurried for the door, trembling as you thought about accidentally running into Ratonhnhaké:ton as you tried to escape. Just seeing him would make you want to stay and you couldn’t. You needed to report back.

You stepped out into the chilly morning, the sun beaming against your skin and chasing back the harshness of winter. It almost felt like the oncoming of spring but you knew it was impossible. You still had a few more months to endure before spring really began to show itself. The white frosted grass proved as much.

You walked the wide path that ran through town, heading towards the stables at its edge. It was easy taking one of the horses without anyone noticing. You held an air of confidence so that when anyone walked by it looked like you belonged there. You climbed into the saddle and began a slow, patient trot out of town. Once you were a safe distance away you began galloping fiercely towards Boston.

Half a day’s ride at most, you thought, glancing over your shoulder to see the empty road behind you. A part of you had hoped to see Ratonhnhaké:ton riding after you. But it was empty and quiet, only the rhythmic drumming of your horse’s hooves to break the silence.

You focused your efforts on what was really important: the mission. Your target had been eliminated, just as you were ordered. The item he was supposed to have, however, wasn’t there. That must have meant someone else retrieved it. If that were the case then you’d only be sent out again in search for it. If they don’t find out your wounded, that is.

You abandoned the horse in Boston’s stable and trudged your way through its clusters of citizens. The people gathered together in great masses, worming and snaking through the buildings and alleyways. Boston reeked of sweat and musk. It was coated in a harsh layer of dirt and grime. It wasn’t like the pristine landscape of the frontier.

You knew where they would be. There were only two locations in all of Boston that they would haunt. The inn was closer than their headquarters and, as rare as he made an appearance there, you needed a good strong drink to shake off your exhaustion. It was the perfect time to go as well. The place was void of all patrons but a few quiet ones.

The corner of your mouth twitched when you caught sight of them upstairs. You climbed the steps, his eyes sweeping over towards you and a spark of relief hit his eyes. “Haytham.” You gave him a nod, glancing at the small gathering. “Drinking this early already? You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

His words were calmly spoken, rolling from the tip of his tongue, “Was it there?”

You gave him a shake of your head. “No. He had to have handed it off before I arrived.”

He gave a low groan, grasping his hands tightly behind his back before pacing off. “That is unfortunate. In that case, we shall have to search another route. You are certain of his death?”

You scoffed, your expression distorting with irritation. “Have I ever left a man alive?”

He tossed his head with a brief smile. “No, you have never failed us. It is why I must ask for your services again.”

Thomas, drunk by the sound of it, slurred, “Oh now, come on, Haytham. She only just got back. Girl deserves a drink.”

You peered over at him, the slovenly state of his clothes. “Or seven if you had it your way.” He flashed you a wink before you turned your attention back to the pacing Grand Master. “Your request?”

“A traitor,” he said casually before waltzing towards his chair and regally sitting down in it. “He has chosen to sell our secrets to the highest bidder. I want the people he sold those secrets to dead. I would then like you to bring him to me.”

You pressed your lips thin, wondering if you could handle such a task with the state of your wound. “Do you have names or do I need to find those myself.”

“Charles.” Haytham raised a hand towards the man who’d been quiet for some time. “Would you fetch the list from my desk back in the office? I still have matters I need to discuss with Johnson.”

“Of course, sir.” Charles gave a respectful nod while getting to his feet. He dismissed himself, walking to your side and offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You rolled your eyes at him and you made sure he saw it. But you humored him all the same. You hooked your arm around his and followed him down the staircase and out through the tavern door.

Charles took a few quick glances at you beside him, ones he thought you didn’t notice but you did. He wasn’t very sly about his affections towards you. “We worried for you. I’m pleased to see you’re still alive.”

You bit back sharply, “I’m glad I’m not dead as well.”

He went to say something else but decided against it, turning his head instead to look upon the passing carriage. Charles hadn’t always been infatuated with you. You’d been a grubby little child when you first met the man, sharp as a whip and clever enough to swindle them.

It had been Johnson’s idea, the softness of his heart, when he came up with the idea. Haytham had been outwardly appalled but secretly he delighted in the notion of raising you. Perhaps, a part of him wanted to be like his father. Or perhaps he wanted to have a protege just as he had been raised.

Charles, back then, hadn’t wanted much to do with you. You supposed that growing up and being attractive had something to do with his change of heart. But even then, when you were a teenager, he showed no interest. You weren’t sure the moment or the day but… when you returned to America with Haytham, Charles suddenly held an affection towards you.

He was twice your age, well respected, and successful. It wasn’t entirely odd for a man of his forties to seek a wife younger than him. In fact, it was completely normal to some of the richer houses back in England.

Charles stopped suddenly, jerking you out of your thoughts. “Are you wounded?”

You peered down at your attire, finding that your wound must have reopened during the rigorous horseback ride. Blood speckled the dark leather and furs. “It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious?” Charles held that crisp, regal accent similar to Haytham’s that seemed to make his annoyance even more clear. “You’re bleeding. I’ll have one of the servants fetch you a doctor.”

“I’ve already seen one,” you snapped, tugging your arm away from his. “I’m not a child, Charles. This, by far, is the least of my wounds to have received during one of my missions.”

Charles was frozen for a moment, shocked that you had the gall to pull away from him. He wasn’t quite so shocked about your attitude though. That much he was used to. “If Haytham had returned bleeding out, you would have argued that he needed a doctor. Would you not?”

“Haytham would not have been wounded.” You marched forward, walking the rest of the way to the large manor. You knew your way to his study without needing Charles. You were certain Haytham had hoped the two of you would get along. A part of him wanted you to settle down and be a mother. Haytham didn’t realize how irritating the notion was.

You snagged the list and headed back outside before Charles even reached the front door. You walked past him, words spitting across your tongue, “You mention a word of my wound to Haytham and you will regret it.”

Charles scoffed but he was too soft hearted to mean his words, “I shall tell Haytham what I like. He needs to know that he’s sending out his best agent with a debilitating--”

“Do I look debilitated to you?” You spun on your heel and stared him down, eye to eye, and dared him to argue. “I will tell Haytham tonight after dinner. Until then keep it to yourself.”

That hadn’t been mostly true. You weren’t going to tell Haytham after dinner. Or really, you weren’t going to tell him until long after the lesion had mended itself. Haytham didn’t need to know because it wasn’t going to get in the way of your task. You carried yourself well enough for anyone to notice. Certainly you could handle hunting a few people down.

You continued down the street with a silent Charles at your side. By the time the two of your reached the inn, Haytham was already standing outside. He tucked his hands behind his back, waltzing a few paces before he stood before you.

“Master Kenway, sir.” Charles stepped ahead of you. “You can not send her out again. She needs a day to recover from her last venture.”

Your brows pinched, eyes glaring off out over the pasty gray of Boston’s buildings. You should have known Charles would have spoken up. He was one of those caring and noble types.

“I’m aware of her wound, Charles.” Haytham tilted his head a bit. He seemed just as nonchalant as you were about the situation. “I noticed it earlier when she arrived. It is why I sent you along with her, after all.”

You turned your glare to Haytham. “I do not need assistance.”

He gave a firm nod. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t faint. Since you handled yourself well enough, I do not doubt you are ready for your task. I would, however, appreciate you joining me for tea. It has been sometime since we’ve spoken.”

Tea, you groaned. That was Haytham’s way of getting in a few good lectures.

He swept his attention to the paling man beside you. “Charles, Hickey requires a bit of assistance. You’re to meet him at his home.”

“Of course, sir.” He gave a respectful nod to you both before trudging off.

Haytham’s lips pulled wide, a thin and wry smirk. “He is a caring man and he will make the Order a fine puppet with power. The moment we can secure him a spot in office, that is.” He lifted a hand, motioning you to walk with him back towards the manor.

You followed the sidewalk with him, knowing exactly what Haytham wanted to discuss. “No,” you stated firmly. “Whatever plan you have for me--”

He chuckled deep in his throat. “Plan? My child, I know not what you mean.”

You tossed him your fiercest glower. “Don’t play coy. I know Charles is your closest confidant.”

“You are wrong in that respect.” Haytham peered over at you before tossing his attention about the structures of Boston’s architecture. “My closest confidant is you. You are my protege. You are the closest thing to a child that I have. You are my family and I wish the best for you.”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “You want the best for the Order.”

Haytham stopped quickly and waited for you to look at him. He was stern, a steady and unwavering stare. “Charles would provide you with everything you needed. But--” He raised a palm before you could shout your fury. “But, if it is something you are against I shall not let Charles pursue you.”

Your rage softened, the tension in your muscles growing faint. You’d spent your whole life under Haytham’s care. Of course, he only wanted your happiness. You tried to sound kinder, sweeter than usual, “I don’t want to marry. I’m happy as I am right now. I want to continue down this path.”

He smiled, something flickering in his eyes. “No different than I.”

You grinned teasingly at him. “You were the one who raised me this way.”

He raised his chin a bit higher, somewhat proud at your statement. “So, Grand Master, is it? Shall you take my place when the time comes?”

The corner of your mouth twitched, delighting in the idea. “I’d be honored if that day ever came.”

Haytham lifted a hand and pressed it into your spine. “First, let us enjoy our tea. Then we can discuss your plans to take over the world.”

You snorted, shoving your shoulder into his.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haytham sends you on your first mission after returning wounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW: Happy Valentines Day!!! Totally not the fluff I should have written for this day but.... *slips into the shadows*

You were redressing the lesion when a servant was sent to fetch you, requesting that you meet Master Kenway in his study. You threw on the new set of tailored attire, laced up your boots, then sauntered through the vast halls of the mansion. The large building never quite felt like home to you. You hadn’t grown up there and, since your return to America with Haytham, you were often out on some mission or another.

Haytham was just stepping out of his study when you arrived, his attention flicking to you then back to the parchment in hand. “The man I need you to bring to me, James Marsh…” He strolled through the home as you followed intently at his side. “He was sighted only a moment ago heading out of Boston on horseback. I can not determine where he is headed as of yet but I know someone who might have an idea.”

“One of the names on my list, I presume.” You nestled your hands behind your back, leering at him as you analyzed the calm tension in his expression.

Haytham was well guarded, well practiced in keeping his thoughts and emotions unreadable. But spend enough time with a man and all his secrets could be easily known. And you, above all others, had spent the most time with Haytham. You had been the one to travel with him across Europe and Asia, watched as he rescued his sister and took revenge for the atrocities committed against his family. You returned with him to America, fought by his side as he took down the Assassin Order with Shay Cormac. So, when you looked at him, you saw clearly the stresses of being Grand Master.

“Indeed you will be eliminating two of our problems. Martin…” His tone took on a hint of humor and disbelief. “I believe his friends call him… ‘Marty’. A drunkard who haunts the docks and the nearby tavern. An easy target I’m sure. And easier to draw information from.”

“Drunken men do love to blabber to pretty women.” You pressed your lips thin. You never were good at the flirting angle. You were always better at forcing information out of your target.

Haytham abruptly came to a stop and cast all of his stern attention upon you. “Caution, my child. There has been word of an Assassin in the area. You are only skilled enough to challenge him if you are patient.”

You ducked your head away, glancing down at the newly polished boots as you considered your words. He was your mentor, closest ‘friend’ if you could call him such. A father, really. He deserved to know about Ratonhnhaké:ton and his assistance in the woods. “Haytham--”

“I trust in your abilities.” His large hand wrapped around your shoulder, squeezing it tenderly like a father to a daughter. “I know you will do what is necessary.”

You squeezed your hands together and gave a firm nod.

“I must be off. Charles requires my presence.” Haytham folded the parchment in his hands, slipping it inside the folds of his dark blue jacket. “I shall speak with you more tonight at dinner.”

You watched him walk away, convincing yourself that you would tell him at dinner when there was more time to explain. You had more important matters to take care of. You couldn’t waste your energy on silly sentiments. Besides, it was unlikely that you would run into the youth and if you did happen to see him…

You clasped your hands tighter then marched forward. You focused yourself on the mission alone, desperate to forget about your savior back in the woods. You kept your efforts on locating Marty which was likely the easiest target you’d ever found. The barkeep pointed him out dead away and for much of the evening you watched him, sipping gingerly from the tankard in hand.

Marty wasn’t difficult to size up. He was a man who liked to drink and tell tall stories to any pretty thing that dared to listen. For a man who drank often, he also wasn’t very good at holding his liquor. He was drunk after two tankards and once he drank a few more he staggered out of the tavern onto the frigid Boston streets.

You slid your hardly touched ale over towards the person closest to you at the bar then stalked your prey at a distance. He stumbled into one of the shipyards along the docks, half built boats lying in wait for their craftsmen. It was also a place with many walls and shadows, a good place to keep out unnecessary attention.

He planned to pass through the area but you kicked his foot out from under him. Marty felt forward, too drunk to catch himself as his face slammed into the wood planks. He groaned as his hands fumbled to find his face, the pain sparking along his nose. Broken, most likely.

“Marty, I take it?” You kneeled down and shoved the stunned man onto his back. “I hear you have information that I need.”

He nursed his nose, blood seeping past his fingers. “My face… hurts…”

You snatched hold of his shirt, jerking him up sloppily to his knees. He was too drunk and scatterbrained but a little fear can go a long way. “Don’t make me hurt you more, Marty. Listen closely to me. I’m looking for a man named James Marsh. I heard you know where to find him.”

He starred senselessly down at his hands, still processing the blood and your words.

“Perhaps this will alert you to the seriousness of the situation.” You stood up sharply and flicked the dagger from your belt, towering easily over the kneeling man.

He turned open palms to you. “Wait, wait. Uh, James, yes. James. He, uh…” Marty made an attempt to stand but you weren’t going to let the drunkard try to run. You stepped behind him and curled a forceful hand beneath his chin. “No, no, no. There’s a cabin up north of here. He goes there when things get too heated. He heard some people were looking for him and he left.”

“His information...” Your grip tightened, tip of the dagger pricking his skin. “Where does he get it?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” He groaned, trembling hand fluttering up to wipe clean the blood below his nose. “I just sell it to people.”

“Have you sold any recently?”

He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “No one's buying. They’re all spooked.”

“They should be.” You slid the blade quickly across his throat, blood spilling from the wound. Your eyes caught movement between the ships, peering up to see his stern stare as he watched your victim slowly lose life. You suddenly felt exposed. You felt the strange kindling of regret and shame beneath Ratonhnhaké:ton’s stare. Your lips parted, eyes sweeping down to the dead man in your grasp, the evidence of your crime.

“You killed this man.” It was a statement, coated in shock and disappointment, touched by the growing stages of anger.

You’d killed numerous people in your lifetime. It wasn’t new to you in the slightest but the way his eyes bored into you… You couldn’t lift your gaze up from the dark liquid that pooled at your feet. You let Marty’s body fall away, bonelessly thudding into the ground.

His rage was evident now, tone deep and harsh, “You hurried to Boston for this? Risked your own life so that you could take another's?”

“Oh?” You raised a challenging brow, but it faltered when your eyes met his. “And what reason are you here? To save him?”

“To ask questions.” He finally dared to step forward, staring down at the crumpled corpse. “What reason would you have to take his life? I want no more of your lies.”

You took down a sharp breath, ready to argue some half-spun lie but then it was impossible when he finally settled his gaze on you. The dark russet color of his eyes, the naive nobility in them, made it hard to speak at all. You clenched your jaw and sheathed your dagger. Lying would make things worse. Or so, that’s what you wanted to believe. Perhaps you wanted a reason to tell him the truth.

You muttered it, “You want the truth?”

His body tensed as if he suddenly wasn’t quite so ready to hear it.

You stepped around the dead body, moving closer to Ratonhnhaké:ton but also keeping your distance. You sternly stated it, determined to keep your voice leveled, “I’m a Templar.”

His eyes darted away then returned quickly to scrutinize you. His lips drew back to reveal clenched teeth, the realization hitting him hard. His hands tightened into fists, arms trembling from tension. “To think I saved your life.” He paced stiffly, always keeping you in his peripheral. He remained silent for some time, his avoidance causing more pain than his irritation. “You knew what I was. For how long?”

Your face seemed to crumple at the sight of his anger, at his regret having saved you at all. “Near the beginning…”

“And you said nothing? Did nothing?”

“What was I to say? Hello, Assassin, we’re enemies but could you kindly keep me alive?” Your throat closed. It was becoming harder to breathe. “I wasn’t trying to deceive you, Ratonhnhaké:ton. I left the first moment I could to avoid complications.”

He stopped his pacing mid-step and threw you a fierce glare. “Don’t. You do not get to use that name.”

Your heart shook, a sickness swelling in you. “You saved my life. Twice. I would never harm you. I owe you.”

“I want nothing from you.” He took a hard step forward, a failed attempt to contain his rage. “I want nothing from a liar and a Templar.”

“Ra… Connor.” You took down a shuddering breath, eyes rolling down to peer at one of the many victims in your long list of victims. This wasn’t how you imagined your second meeting with Ratonhnhaké:ton. You knew things wouldn't end well in the end. Strangely enough you’d hoped. “For now, our enemy is the same. You want the same man that I want. He’s selling both of our secrets, yes?”

“You suggest an alliance?”

“An armistice, as it were.” You forced a smirk, forced yourself to ignore the strange pang in your chest. “We track this enemy of ours and once the task is done… we leave our separate ways.”

“You are a Templar.” His words darted from the tip of his tongue. “I will never work with your kind.”

“We are no different than you.” Your skin flushed with fire, either from anger or embarrassment. Beneath his stare you couldn’t discern from the two. “We both kill for a cause we believe in.”

“I was a child when your people killed my mother. They burned my village.” His lips thinned into a hard line, pressed to hold back the rest of his heated word. “What ‘cause’ was there in that?”

“No, that’s…” You shook your head. “That can’t be right.”

“Give me your information and I will take James’s life myself. You will not come with me.”

You tucked your hands behind your back, clutching onto them, burying your nails into them. “No.”

He charged forward until he was inches away from you. “We will never be allies.”

You held your ground, eyes steady with his. “Then don’t be my ally. But I have information you need.” Your next breath was too deep and it filled with his scent, a delightful mixture of pine needles and citrusy cedar. It was the same scent that encased you back in the woods. “I have to see with my own eyes that James Marsh is dead. I can’t have him live because you have a conscience.”

“If your information is even correct.” His brows felt flat over his eyes as he leaned even closer, hot breath spilling across your skin. “For all we know Martin lied.”

“He didn’t.” You wanted to close the distance. Despite Ratonhnhaké:ton’s rage, his hatred for you, it was hard forget the determined kindness of the man who saved you. “Men like him will sell out their own mother so long as it saves their life. He wasn’t loyal to anyone.”

“If you betray me… I will kill you.”

“I won’t.” Your eyes finally fluttered, gaze finally dodging downwards as a twinge of sickness returned. You hesitated to turn away from him, not because you thought he’d attack but because you wanted to plead your case better. You wanted more time with him. “I owe you my life. Even if you regret such.”

You left the docks, heart quaking in your chest and trembling down through your legs. Each step was as weak as the next and if you hadn’t called a carriage halfway home you wouldn’t have made it at all.

You leaned forward and pressed your pounding skull into your palm. He hated you. Of course he did. He was an Assassin, blindly trusting in valor and nobility, falsely believing he was doing the right thing. You knew the truth of reality. True freedom was chaos. Without some form of government there could be no peace. The Templars understood the need for laws and boundaries.

So why was it that you felt nothing but guilt and disgust? The way he looked at you, the way he cringed away when he realized you’d slit a man’s throat. He regretted his actions back in the woods, saving your life and carrying you to safety. All of it had been a mistake in his eyes. Still, you couldn’t help but feel some form of gratitude.

You tried to shake off the uneasiness when you reached home. Haytham would see it plainly, his eyes trained to pick up on such things. You walked confidently through the halls towards Haytham’s study. You opened the door, too dazed to remember to knock, and stepped inside.

The room was empty, quiet save the cracklings of the fireplace. You moved deeper into the room, straight for the files that Haytham hoarded. If he had any information about Connor’s tribe it would be in there. You knew Charles wouldn’t have set an entire village on fire. It had to be wrong, especially if Johnson was involved. No, Connor had to be wrong. Hickey, maybe, but… No, you couldn’t believe that.

You were shuffling through the papers when Haytham walked in. He noticed you immediately, a brow beginning to rise in question. He would never be suspicious of you. You were his protege. But he certainly wasn’t pleased about your snooping. “Are you searching for something in particular?”

“I was looking for information.” You peered down at the files, steadied your breathing just as Haytham had trained you to. “Do you remember that tribe? The one you once worked with when I was a child?”

“The Mohawks, yes...” He stepped further into the room and busied himself with papers scattered along his desk. Something about his tone told you that it was a painful subject. “Why is it that you ask about them now? It has been years since we’ve last dealt with them.”

“Curiosity, I suppose.” You moved away from the files, kept your eyes on the door as you moved across the room. You hoped Haytham would drop the matter. You were never good at lying to him. Lying to others came easy but Haytham somehow managed to look past it all. Or perhaps, you secretly wanted him to see through your lies.

“Darling.” He sat down at his desk. His stern and cocky gaze was locked on you.

You sighed, shoulders slumping a bit. You would tell him at least half of the truth. “There was a Native back in the woods… when I was first wounded. He saved my life. He spent weeks nursing me back to health. I wanted…”

“To find him? To repay his kindness?”

“Yes.” You turned to him, hating how much it sickened you to talk about it.

Haytham hummed, a laugh rolling beneath it. “You think that you owe him a life debt.”

“If he hadn’t help--”

“You do not owe him.” Haytham’s words were final, no room for retorts or arguments. “He chose to save you nothing more. Whatever troubles you caused him were brought upon himself.”

“He could have left me to die,” you reasoned. You knew he should have. Sadly, Connor knew it now as well. “I at least want to repay him somehow.”

“In some cultures, it is believed that when someone saves another, they become responsible for that person. They gave them life when they should have died and so they are now responsible for taking care of them forever.”

“You’re saying he should be responsible for me now?”

“I am saying it is a foolish endeavor that you alone are shackling yourself with.” He gave his typical haughty grin, a rise of his chin. “To business now: Martin was questioned, I take it? You learned what you needed?”

You failed to ignore the hammering of your heart, the pounding in your ears. “I did. Your target fled north to a cabin. He seeks refuge there when things aren’t well. I’ll leave to search the place in the morning.”

Haytham seemed pleased with your response. He moved past the desk towards the lit fireplace, hands lifting to rest upon his hips. The fire casted shadows against his expression, against the dark blue of his coat. “I understand your reluctance to tell me the entire truth. Do not make me regret not pressing the matter.”

“You won’t.” You made sure your words were believable, to his ears as well as your own. You knew he’d be disappointed to hear that you let the Assassin live but… You would continue to shackle yourself to Connor. He saved your life and despite everything that recently occurred, you would repay him somehow. Then you’d leave him to be at peace.

“Come.” Haytham finally turned away from the fire, his arm wrapping around your back. “I believe dinner is waiting for us. After your long hunt, I am certain you could use a warm meal.”


	6. Chapter 6

Perhaps it was the years of training that alerted you, all those years out in the field where danger was thickest. Your instincts were prickled and, like usual, you followed them without hesitation. Your hand was reaching for the pistol above your head on the bedside table long before you registered the action. The gun was aimed in his general direction, yours eyes locked on the shadow that enveloped his form.

You lowered the weapon but kept it in hand just in case. “Most people drop by after dawn and they tend to knock first.”

“So that you could leave without me?” He was sitting in a chair, awkwardly large compared to the piece of furniture. His entrance had been silent enough to only draw you from sleep. You couldn’t be certain how long he’d been there until you felt him, seconds or hours.

“That’s why you’re here?” You gave a low groan and slapped the pistol back down onto the bedside table. “Sit there then. I’m going to at least get a few more hours of sleep.” You laid down and tugged the covers over your shoulder.

His words were just as hard pressed as they’d ever been, firmly tossed from the tip of his tongue, “The longer you waste time, the further our target is getting from us.”

Your rolled onto your side, your shoulders hunched up around you and your back to him. You sunk deeper into the bed, determined to be just as stubborn as him. You knew he was right. In fact, if you had been feeling well yesterday, you might have even left the moment you learned where to go.

You stayed in bed a moment longer, soaking up the warmth that the layers of cloth provided before finally shoving the covers off. “Fine. I’m up.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton rose to his feet just as annoyed, as if he had been the one to be dragged out of bed on the whim of another. “I hope you do not take just as long getting ready.”

You snagged your gear and with rough movements strapped it all down. “Just be careful not to get caught. If the Templars see you leaving my room…” You smirked but there was more acidic hatred than humor. “They might wonder about us.”

“Worry more for yourself, Templar.” He tossed a hand towards the window, motioning for you to take the lead but your smile only widened into a large unhalting grin.

“I’m not going out the window. I live here.”

He groaned, eyes rolling rather childishly.

“I get to use the front door. Besides,” you rolled your eyes as well, sashaying to the bedroom door. “Wouldn’t sneaking out in the dark of early morning draw suspicion?”

He nearly gave a growl before ploughing his way out the window, somehow still managing to keep quiet. You didn’t watch him for much longer, slipping out the door and down the hall towards the main staircase. Unsurprisingly, Haytham was sitting in his office drinking tea at a small breakfast table.

“You are up rather early.” His eyes lifted from the papers in hand for only a small moment before returning to them.

You stopped at his office door, fingers resting on its frame. “An old grouchy man once told me something about early birds and worms.”

He gave a haughty huff. “Strange, I think I heard something similar from a young and presumptuous teenager. She told me that the second mouse gets the cheese.” This time he lifted his attention and held it on you, carefully analyzing your expression. He knew rather well that something wasn’t quite right. Haytham always did.

“I wouldn’t want my worm to crawl too far away,” you reasoned, pressing a smirk on your lips as best you could but he must have seen through it because his chin rose a bit. “I’ll be fine.”

“Just be certain you aren’t the first mouse, my dear.” He tried to refocus on his papers but his gaze flicked back to you. “And whatever fear or uncertainty you’re holding onto… allow it to pass.”

“I... can handle it.” You let your mask fall away, a solemn nod before striding down the hall to the front door. You hated lying to him, especially when he knew you were lying but respected your space all the same. He trusted you, most likely the only person he trusted which made the matter even worse.

You met Ratonhnhaké:ton some blocks away from the house, a horse resting rather patiently with his own. It was Ratonhnhaké:ton that was the impatient one, glaring at you from his saddle. You climbed onto your mount and trotted forward, grumbling somewhat at him, “Try to keep up. I’d hate for our target to escape.”

He made a noise of disgruntled shock. “You are the one who slept away our chance to attack early.”

“Is it my fault you woke me up so late?” You tossed a challenging glance over your shoulder at him, slowing your horse down just enough that you could look at him in the eye. “Or was it that you enjoyed watching me sleep?”

His jaw tightened just as he dug his heel into the side of his steed, forcing it to gallop through the streets and out the city’s open gates. Of course, that was after you saw the brightening flush of his skin. You knew he hadn’t been watching you sleep but the mere suggestion of it flustered him.

~:~

You both left the horses some distance away from the cabin. You didn’t want your target to hear them let alone see them coming. It was a long trudge through the snow, trailing around trees and measuring each breath with calm acuity. When the rustic building finally came into view, Ratonhnhaké:ton followed along the tree line and avoided the front door.

“If we’re lucky,” you mumbled under your breath, slowing your steps to keep quiet, “Marsh will be inside and we can make this quick.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton took the lead but upon reaching the cabin door he made a glance over his shoulder. “He is in the far room. We will need to be quiet.”

You gave a minor nod, hardly understanding how he could have known such a thing without even opening the door. Haytham had the same unsettling way about him, somehow knowing more about a person in the other room than anyone ever should.

The cabin was humble looking but it wasn’t abandoned. There were clear signs that people went there but not to live or sleep. There was a main room, cluttered on either side with tables and chairs as if it were a meeting place rather than a safehouse. But even the tables looked worn, chairs tossed on their sides as if the last meeting had been a drunken party.

He followed along the wall, positioning himself away from the door so if Marsh happened to step out of the back room, he wouldn’t see the ambush coming. You easily kept close behind him but the moment the door creaked open and Marsh stepped out, you quickly snuck up behind the unsuspecting man.

You kicked his leg out from under him, shoving him down to his knees. One hand snatched hold of his hair while the other brought a knife to his throat. “James Marsh, I presume?”

He quaked, a trembling mess with rising palms. “No! No, please, I'm his… brother.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton stalked to the other side of the man, his gaze piercing furiously into you. He questioned himself then, wondering why he was trusting a Templar. But his eyes roved down to Marsh, or at least, one of the Marshes. “His brother…”

He nodded fervently, wide eyed and sweaty. “He was supposed to meet with me here but he never showed.”

You felt your whole body groan. “Where is he? Where would he go?”

“How should I know? If he didn’t meet me here then…” He whimpered, expecting some sort of reprimand from you. “I don’t know. He said a ton of people were after him. Perhaps he’s dead already. Maybe they have him. I don’t know.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton spat bitterly, “If Martin was still alive we might have asked him where Marsh went.”

“Seriously?” You rolled your eyes up at him. “Why would Marsh tell his friend but not his own brother?”

His lips pulled back to make a harsh remark but the man between the two of you used the quarrel as an opportunity. He drew a dagger from his belt, quickly thrusting it forward into Ratonhnhaké:ton’s gut. You were stunned, shocked as the Assassins staggered back from the intensity of his wound. You didn’t give Marsh much time to run. You snatched his shoulder and threw him into the ground, burying your dagger deep into Marsh’s chest. You tugged the blade out just to thrust it in again, a hatred that nearly growled out of you.

When Marsh was choking on his own blood, when you were certain he wouldn’t get back up, you turned sharply to find Ratonhnhaké:ton. He was keeled over, his legs barely supporting his weight and thankfully the rugged wall was support enough. You gathered his large form, most of what you could, into your arms.

You whispered it, words strangled, as you tried to haul him towards the door. “It’s deep. We need to get you somewhere--”

His movements stilled and for a moment you thought the blade had sunken further. “Someone’s coming… Two of them--” He groaned and his grip around you tightened from the burst of agony.

Your ears strained to hear whoever it was that approached but you couldn’t hear or see anything. You didn’t take any chances. “Come on. This way.” The two of you waltzed awkwardly through the immense building, thankfully finding an empty room in the back. There wasn’t a door, or any windows, and you realized it too late.

“Well, she was certainly here.” Haytham. You knew his voice anywhere, his boots clattering against the wooden floors.

“Is that him, sir?” And Charles, you cringed, your vision sweeping around across the space once more for an exit strategy. There wasn’t one and even if a window was available, Ratonhnhaké:ton was too weak and bulky to fit through a window.

“Undoubtedly.” Haytham didn’t seem pleased, his steps entering further into the structure. “She must have been wounded. We should track her down.”

Charles nearly choked on the word, “Wounded?”

“I doubt she got far.” His boots moved across the floor again, this time softening as he moved further away. “Yes, there’s blood splattered here. Different than the rest. And she left her blade… I doubt she’d do that unless she were in a hurry.”

“We did see two sets of tracks outside,” Charles agreed, the strain in his voice telling you he wasn't quite so calm as Haytham about matters.

Haytham gave a long hum of consideration. “Two different sizes of tracks… She may have followed Marsh here…”

“Unless those were hers and she’s… stumbling” Charles quickened his pace. “We should find her before she bleeds out, sir.”

Haytham scoffed suddenly. He didn’t believe that any more than he believed the second pair of tracks were from you stumbling. He sensed something was off but he followed after the eager Charles without further complaint.

You returned your attention back to Ratonhnhaké:ton, putting all your strength into holding him upright. “We need to move. Soon. Before they get back.”

“Our horses,” he cringed, a failed attempt at taking a step forward.

“We’ll take theirs.” You wanted to swallow those words because they caused you to hesitate. By taking their horses, it meant Haytham would definitely know something was wrong. But if you didn’t take their horses, you would endanger Ratonhnhaké:ton which shouldn’t have been something to hesitate about.

“They will know.” He leaned his whole weight against you as you both shuffled to the main entrance of the building, back towards Marsh’s bleeding corpse. “By helping me--”

“Enough. We take their horses and find a doctor.”

His next step threw you off balance, his arms pulling you as he stumbled into the doorway. You only barely managed to get him back on his feet, staggering out into the snowy landscape. The area was clear of Haytham and Charles and, worst of all, if they brought horses they were nowhere to be seen.

He gave a low groan, a shaky hand rising to press against the seeping wound. “We will need to go on foot…” His breath knotted back whatever else he was going to say.

“This way then.” You guided him away from the small cabin and deeper into the woods. You were putting distance between yourself and Haytham, hoping the distance would keep Ratonhnhaké:ton safe long enough to get to a proper Doctor.

“I know a doctor,” he hissed through gnashed teeth. “He is a day’s walk from here.”

“Walk?” you chided, fighting against the thick snow as you stumbled onward. “We’re barely at a stroll.”

His hand reached out towards the closest tree trunk and leaned his weight against it. Blood, a darkening red, stained his fingers and palm. “The Templars will come this way when they’ve seen our tracks.” He swallowed an abrupt groan, trembling fingers reaching back towards the slick blood that soaked his jacket.

“That’s why we need to keep moving.” You tightened his arm around your neck and hoisted forward but he wasn’t working with you anymore.

“They will reach us before we reach the doctor.” His knees started to give way as if he weren’t willing to fight anymore. “If they see you with me…”

You huffed, mouth curling as it dawned upon you that he was more concerned for your safety than his own. “They won’t catch up to us. And if they do…” You shoved forward, forcing him to finally relent and walk with you. You muttered it again, mostly to convince yourself, “They won’t come this way.”

“They will brand you a traitor.”

You didn’t argue with him. It would have been a waste of energy for both of you. Besides, he was correct and you knew it. You would be labeled a traitor, or rather, Haytham would frown upon your actions. You couldn’t say for certain what his reaction would be. Anger or disappointment, perhaps both in equal measures.

You continued forwards through the woodlands, barely keeping in step with each other. He bowed his head forward, his leg barely making it up over the snow as he stepped. He was getting weaker and the exertion would kill him quicker than the blade.

“It won’t do us any good to keep going.” You shuffled to a stop and helped settle his back against the rough bark of a tree. Shadows were casting a wider presence across the landscape, darkening the white snow as the sun hung low above the horizon. The temperatures were already dropping, you could feel the heavy cold sinking into your bones.

Ratonhnhaké:ton slid down the tree, groaning when the knife jostled against the wound. “We need to…” He threw his head back, shoving his crown painfully into the tree. “Remove the knife.”

“We can’t just remove it--”

“Pine sap,” he hissed through his teeth. “And snow.

You knelt down beside him, hand hovering over the wound. God, if you hadn’t been arguing with him, if you hadn’t killed Martin in the first place… If only you had kept your eyes on Marsh you could have prevented this. You pulled your quaking hands away from the hilt of the blade but he quickly snatched hold of one. You nodded your head firmly then reached out and jerked the knife from the slick wetness.

He only just barely swallowed his scream, the heel of his boot digging into the ground. He nodded his head quickly, encouraging you to continue treating the open gash.

You tossed the knife aside and peeled away the damp cloth of his jacket and shirt. Blood, dark nearly black in the shadow of the tree, pooled across his stomach. “Pine sap,” you muttered it. “Collecting it will take time.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded weakly.

You gathered handfuls of snow and gently pressed it into the feverish heat of his skin. “That vial… Whatever you gave me… You need it right now.”

His hand fumbled along his waist, reaching back towards the pouches gathered on his belt. He allowed you to pry the leather pouch open, slipping his fingers around the vial and passing it off to you. “If I drink this… my mind won’t be my own. It will be harder to get to the homestead.”

You held onto the glass, staring into the liquid as if it would somehow help you decide. “Will it keep you from dying?”

His brows quivered, torn between agony and desperation. “It will… dull the pain.”

You huffed a heavy sigh then tucked the vial into your jacket. “First, we focus on getting a fire going. Then we’ll worry about the rest.”

You swept your attention away from him for less than a second when his body suddenly went slack. Ratonhnhaké:ton fell sideways into the snow. You leapt forward in a failed attempt at pulling him upright, adrenaline and desperation surging. He didn’t even groan when your arms struggled with his weight.

“No, no, no.” You shook him, gathering him into your lap, muttering uselessly, “Don’t do this to me.” Your arm slid under his neck, your other hand tapping against his cheek in hopes his eyes would flutter. “Don’t. Don’t you dare die on me.” You drew in your bottom lip when he didn’t respond. You hugged him against your chest, whispering it pleadingly, “Please.”

You snatched the vial from your jacket, taking the cork between your teeth and tugging it. You pressed the vial to his lips and allowed the cold liquid to just barely touch them. His brows furrowed, a subtle and quick movement but it was enough. You forced his lips apart and allowed some of the liquid to pour past them.

He coughed, raspily and weak, but he swallowed down all that you offered. Ratonhnhaké:ton kept breathing but he didn’t move or make any noise. You listened to his shallow breathing and stroked the thick tresses of his hair. It was strange for you to want so desperately for a person to live. You of course wanted Haytham to live, he had raised you after all. But this man… in such a short amount of time you had grown to care for him and that in itself was unsettling.

You bowed your head forward, pressing your mouth against his feverish forehead. “Stay strong for me, please…” Your eyes glistened, heated by the tears that began to form. “You will survive this. Isn’t that what you told me?”

He moaned softly, fingers barely able to curl around the cloth closest to them.

You cupped your hand against his cheek, smoothing the skin along the bone. “I promise you. I won’t let you die.” You drew in your lips. You knew he couldn’t hear you. Perhaps it was a way to settle your nerves, to prepare yourself… But you needed to speak to him. You needed to hear the words aloud.


	7. Chapter 7

You kept the fire fed during the night, constantly scouring the area for more sticks and dry wood. With the snow on the ground it was nearly impossible but thankfully the cedar trees in the area provided ample amounts of dead branches. You also commended the tree for providing you with a pocket’s worth of feathery, dry bark to burn.

You didn’t sleep at all. Thankfully Ratonhnhaké:ton drank the vial which helped him sleep if not caused him to whimper from the occasional nightmare. A few whimpers was nothing compared to nearly losing him, the groaning and hissing he had been suffering through.

The sun skirted the horizon, the faintest of light peeking through the dense wood. You snuffed out the fire and checked on his wound, peeling back the cloth to find the sap you collected during the night having dried there. It wasn’t bleeding which would keep him alive but… you couldn’t be certain his fever was fading. Your hands were so frozen you didn’t bother checking his temperature.

You patted the sweat from his forehead and brow, raking your fingers through the thick dark tresses of his hair. “Please hold on… we’re almost there.”

You began to fix his clothes, readying yourself to haul his groggy weight across the frontier to reach whatever “homestead” he mentioned yesterday. But your ears twitched at hearing the soft hushes of snow groan beneath the weight of heavy footsteps. “Connor,” you heard her mutter just as you were turning around. “What happened to you?”

You quickly took in her appearance, deciding quickly whether or not you could trust her. “Poachers,” you blurted, sliding your gaze back over to his quivering brows and clenched eyes.

She sighed heavily and marched forward, the steps of a woman who had learned to take care of herself long ago. She wasn’t an Assassin, that much you could determine, but she was a hunter of some sort. “We should get him to Doctor White. He’ll know what to do.”

You hooked his arm around your neck, giving her time to do the same. She cared for Ratonhnhaké:ton. She knew him somehow. Did they hunt together, you wondered. Perhaps they were close, closer than friends... because she muttered under her breath, “Oh, Connor, what’d you get yourself into this time.”

She was strong, helping you carry his weight through snow and over fallen logs. Every now and then Ratonhnhaké:ton would gain enough consciousness to contribute, staggering forward with determination. But even with her added help and his, it was a draining and exhausting trek. Especially after not getting any sleep the night before.

Thankfully the homestead doctor wasn’t far. She led the way to the door and pounded the heel of her hand against it. The door swung open, his eyes widening when he took in the sight of the large half-awake native before him. “Marian? What happened to Connor?”

“Poachers,” she hissed, struggling to keep hold of his broad shoulders. “I bet they were hunting his land again.”

Doctor White barely glanced at you before motioning all of you to follow him inside. “Set him down on the bed. I’ll grab my things.”

It took a lot patience and stumbling but Ratonhnhaké:ton fell backwards onto the bed, his weight causing the frame to whine. You caught your breath, finally turning your attention to Marian as she was running a hand down the side of his face.

You stayed with unintentional bitterness, “How do you know R--Connor?”

“Saved my life,” she said matter-of-factly. She stepped away from the bed but her eyes lingered on him. “He keeps the homestead running. If it weren’t for him none of us would have a place to call home.”

You gave a nod, noting the admiration she held for him. “He seems to do that a lot…” You pressed fingers against your eyes, thinking back on the night when Ratonhnhaké:ton found you in the woods, bleeding out and dying. You knew he hadn’t taken care of you because you were somehow special but hearing Marian’s story… It only clarified matters. But whether Ratonhnhaké:ton saw you as anything more than just a person in need or a Templar, you had to make sure he was going to live.

Then… then you would leave. You had no right to stay and put his life in danger, to make things worse or complicated. Killing Martin and bringing him with you to kill Marsh… all of it weighed heavily on your shoulders and heart. You were a Templar. You never should have brought him along. He never should have been involved in Templar business.

Doctor White returned with his medical bag, setting it down beside the bed before finally taking his first look at the wound. He gave a few hums here and there, considering his options before finally turning his gaze towards Marian. “Whatever you did for him… he’s going to survive, that’s for certain.”

She chuckled, “Don’t look at me.”

His eyes turned to you, jolting a bit. “My apologies. I thought perhaps you were just… passing by and helped out. I’m Doctor White.” He stood up and extended out his hand and you shook it, although cautiously. “Connor has a fever to fight but otherwise… he’s fine for now. You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like.”

You gave a nod of your head, looking at Ratonhnhaké:ton as he took down a sharp breath. “Thank you. I might stay the night… I should leave in the morning though.”

Marian headed towards the door, “I can see if Achilles can spare one of his horses.”

“No, really, it’s not necessary.” You smiled at her, one of your practiced ones that Haytham had taught you long ago.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She laughed, the door already swinging open. “You saved Connor’s life. I’m getting you that horse.”

You nodded slowly, knowing for certain that Marian cared about Ratonhnhaké:ton. And how could she not? He was one of those noble and caring types, after all. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had a whole following of admirers to choose from. And at least, when you left, he would be in good hands.

~:~

You stayed with him for days, watching him go through the stages of his fever, watched as various people came and went to check up on him. You fell asleep most nights in the chair that Doctor White had left for you when you refused to take his bed and every morning you found yourself with a dizzying headache, having slept long after the sun had risen.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was still asleep that morning. Sweat no longer laced his skin and he wasn’t quite as sickly pale as before. You stood up slowly, your hand reaching out towards his but… You pulled away and quietly moved for the front door. A quick look over your shoulder assured you that he would live while you were out getting some fresh air.

Outside the weather was warmer but there was still snow on the ground and a few scattered clouds to darken the land. But the sun, nearly at its peak, left a warmth on your skin that you reveled in whilst walking from the house towards the fields nearby. You needed to stretch your legs. You needed to clear your thoughts of Ratonhnhaké:ton but it seemed impossible.

The man hated you, despised you and all the people like you… So why was it so difficult to hate him in return? If he wasn't so damn caring it might have been easy. But the way he gathered the homestead together, gave people a place to call home… There was just something about him that made him impossible to forget.

You returned back to the house, your hand reaching for the door when you heard him. It was definitely his voice, muffled by the distance but you were certain it was him. And Marian, you think, as you heard her moving closer to the front door. “I’ll get the doc, you just stay put, alright.”

Your heart rate quickened, your steps stumbling away from the door as your instincts told you to hide. You ducked around the corner, back pressed into the ragged uneven log wall. Marian raced by you towards the road, her steps quickening in desperation to find the doctor. You pressed your skull against the wall, rolling your eyes shut.

You shouldn’t have hidden. There was no reason to. But a part of you couldn’t face him. He knew what you were. He wouldn’t want to see a Templar after having only just woken. Seeing you might even make him furious. You pushed off the wall and sauntered towards the road.

Doctor White was approaching, his smile widening when he saw you. “Awake finally, I see.”

You drew upon your own smile, forcing yourself to look well rested and happy. “Yes. I must leave for Boston since…” You tossed a glance back towards the home. “Since Connor is awake. He needs you right now.”

“Leaving? You sure you won’t stay? I’m certain he’ll want to see you--”

You ducked your head away, holding back the laugh that threatened. “No, I don't think he would. It’s best I leave.” You gave the man a firm nod. “Take good care of him.”

“I shall… yes…” His lips thinned as he tried to process what you meant. “Marian left a horse for you. It’s a long ride back to Boston so I’m certain you’ll need it.”

You marched away from him, down the path towards the horse near the gate. “Thank you, Doctor.” You climbed into the saddle and forced yourself to not look back. You wouldn’t look back. You would not allow yourself the silly notion that you somehow needed to look just to make sure everything was alright. Ratonhnhaké:ton did not need your help and he definitely did not need a Templar in his life.

You rode the horse hard and fast back to Boston, passing the drums of British soldiers and the slow going carts of merchants and farmers. Horse hooves that pounded the earth began rattling against cobblestone as you passed the city gates. You led the mare to the stables before leaping from the saddle and handing her over.

You didn’t stop by the Green Dragon. You went straight home, hoping to avoid curious glares and glowers from either Haytham or Charles. But the moment you stepped through the front door, Charles was racing down the hall from the study and gathering you up into his arms. You struggled against him at first, shock mostly, but then you eased a slow breath.

“You’ve been gone for days,” he whispered it, stepping back as he smoothed your hair and checked your face. “Almost a week. We were certain the worst had happened.”

Haytham drawled blandly, “I hadn’t.” He sauntered forward, chin held high as he raised a hand whilst speaking. “I assume our man is dead?”

You gave a firm nod. “Yes, he is.” You tried to gently push Charles away, to not offend the man who cared far too much for his own good. “And I am fine.”

“But there was blood,” Charles blurted just before Haytham groaned. “We both saw it.”

“My wound reopened,” you skillfully lied, a chuckle added just to make sure it sounded authentic. “God, Charles, you’re worse than a mother hen.”

He cleared his throat in hopes to recover some dignity. He quickly tucked his hands behind his back and straightened his spine. “I apologize. I was merely… concerned.”

You rolled your eyes then reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you. But it’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.” Then you said it firmly, either for Charles or for yourself, you weren’t sure anymore, “I’m a Templar.”

Charles turned his attention towards the Grand Master. He smiled minutely before walking down the hall. “I’ll have someone bring us some tea, shall I?”

Haytham stood where he was, his heated gaze remaining with your own. “I told Charles to give me a moment alone with you. We need to talk.” His hand waved towards the study, motioning you forward.

Your stomach knotted. You took the first step, a sickness swaying in you as you walked by him. Haytham knew. He was too clever to fall for your lies and he was growing more and more impatient with each one you told. You stopped in the middle of the room and stood tall as the door slid closed.

Haytham sauntered towards the unlit fireplace. “I want a full report on what occurred in the woods other day.”

You were tempted to cross your arms, tempted to shut yourself off to the upcoming conversation… But Haytham was skilled at body language and picking up on the slightest changes in tone. So when you stated hesitantly, “The mission was a success,” Haytham knew you were holding something back.

“Did I not raise you? Train you so that you didn’t have to scrounge for a meal?” He glared over his shoulder, hands tightening. “Am I not your father who deserves an honest explanation.”

“I…” You gave a reluctant sigh. He knew he was winning the silent debate when you muttered under your breath, “I can’t.”

“No? Instead let me tell you what I think happened.” He turned around, casually stepping over towards the leather couch and sitting promptly down. “On your previous mission, you were wounded and dying… and a native came along and saved your life. You felt that you somehow owed him for this, perhaps pleased he did the right thing and not take advantage of you.”

“Haytham.”

“You discovered that he was an Assassin! And instead of doing the correct thing and cutting all ties with the miscreant you…” He tossed his head, lips thinning with irritation. “I’m not sure what’s worse… I can only guess that either he came to you for help with Marsh or you went to him… Or perhaps, and I severely hope so, he was simply already there with Marsh.”

Haytham finally dared to sweep his gaze over to you, glancing over your stance and features, searching for clues. “And then there’s the case with the blood. You appear to be in perfect health. That can only mean that you, my dear, took your wounded enemy to seek out aide.”

You must have not been breathing because your chest took down a sharp breath. You rolled your eyes about the study, the dark tints of browns that shrouded the room. “We were going after the same target.”

He sharply stood, a rage at the sound of your admittance. “He is an Assassin! Do you know what they stand for? Chaos, my dear!” He tried to better compose himself but the tension remained in his tone, “They’d rather see the world free and chaotic and wild instead of safe. They kill people in the name of… what? Everything is permitted?”

You nearly bowed your head but you forced yourself to stand tall. You weren’t weak, he taught you that. Haytham taught you long ago that you were strong and unbending, that anything that got in your way could be moved. He taught you that governments were necessary, that people would hurt others if they did as they pleased. And you had seen enough of mankind to know its evils, to know that he was right.

You were a Templar down to the core of your bones. Your ideals couldn’t be shaken but you harbored a loyalty for Ratonhnhaké:ton, a loyalty that also could not be shaken easily. He was stupidly caring, taking time from his life to help everyone even you...The only people to ever make an effort to save your life without expecting anything in return was Haytham and Ratonhnhaké:ton.

He muttered irritably, “Nothing is true… Jibberish nonsense.” Haytham approached slowly, his hands rising to your shoulders. “Speak to me, child. Tell me. Your lies cut me deeper than any blade ever could.”

You whispered, throat suddenly dry, “He saved my life. I was repaying my debt.”

He heaved out a heavy sigh. “Very well. You have repaid your debt to him. That is enough, is it not?”

Your lips parted. You wanted to tell him, to confess that you felt more than just debt to Ratonhnhaké:ton. You cared for him, either out of affection or meager curiosity but… you couldn't help yourself. You hated to admit it but if Ratonhnhaké:ton showed up and asked for your help, you’d drop everything to do it. You couldn’t explain it...

He asked it again, more sternly than before, “Has your debt been repaid?”

You nodded. “Yes. It has been.” It wasn’t a lie, not truly. You had repaid your debt in a sense. “I am still a Templar.”

He raised his head, hands slipping from your shoulders. “Good. I will need you in the days to come. As a future Grandmaster, you need to begin honing your skills here in the city.”

You made sure you spoke firmly, a determination that Haytham had always instilled in you. “Where would you like me to begin?”

He smirked, proud as he tucked his hands behind his back. “You tell me.”

Of course he was encouraging you to think on your own. “I should solidify our political ties in the area and eliminate those that are a hazard to our influence.”

“Eliminate?”

You chuckled before awkwardly swallowing it. “I should… expose them, bring to light what they would prefer to stay hidden.”

He smiled in satisfaction before waving his hand towards the study door. “Charles should have the tea ready by now. Shall we?”

You quickly linked your arm with his, eager to be a doting daughter. “Knowing Charles, he’s probably put the staff on edge. They’ve probably dropped something by now.”

Haytham groaned. “I certainly hope not. I only just replaced the last set…”


End file.
